


coping with poetry

by jeremey



Category: Original Work
Genre: Gen, Poetry
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-08-06
Updated: 2019-08-06
Packaged: 2020-08-10 19:38:47
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 2,448
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20140888
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jeremey/pseuds/jeremey
Summary: moody teenager writes out his feelings in ambiguous ways





	1. the first time: Nov. 18, 2017

**Author's Note:**

> I used to use poetry as a way to vent my feelings. This is a collection of those poems plus a retrospective addendum.
> 
> I'm mostly posting this here for preservation. The dates listed are the actual dates of writing. The poems are mostly unchanged from their original form, though offensive or identifying parts have been omitted/edited.
> 
> As vent poetry, this work will contain some sharp edge.

**Soft**

I want to be saved from my fantasy--

And I’ve realized long ago

That the savior must be me

Yet I still wait for my princess to arrive

And quite frankly I’ll wait

‘Til I’m no longer alive.

* * *

**Diversion**

A bowl made from magazines

Helps me deviate from the topic at hand--

And have I told you I’ve made a bowl entirely from magazines?

And then you tell me you’ve made ten

* * *

**Hyperfixation**

A hyper enthrallment of the idea of love

And surely if someone existed above--

They would certainly have mercy on my emotions

Or at least leave me better than broken

But the problem’s not really with love, you see

The problem--as I see it--is with me

I’ve broken before and I’ll break later

And you can’t fix glass without a goddamn incinerator

* * *

**Palpitation**

I swear life is a compilation of

Culmination, or perhaps I'm just a

Deviation of of how things are supposed to be

And maybe I need to take a step back

And realize that in my life--at least--

Not a person matters but me


	2. cacophony: Dec. 4, 2017 - Dec. 10, 2017

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> content warning: vomit

I shouldn’t be so caught up on an insignificant detail such as this

A pit in my stomach

Is this what it feels like?

A cry for help

A cry for ???

A cry

I cry

Or, at least

I would like to cry

I mask the ??? with confidence

Which is so unlike me and yet

Is who I want to be and yet

Do I want to be? I’ve never been much into risk-taking

So I convolute my plans and I

Convolute my ??? and it feels like my oxygen supply was cut off--

Oh God, oh Christ

I can’t breathe

I can’t ???

I can’t 

???

And suddenly--

Everything is okay?

* * *

Don’t mind me just takin’ my ??? for a walk ( ͡° ͜ʖ ͡°) ╯╲___█████

* * *

I want to know you.

I want to know what’s best for you.

I want to know how to make you feel special.

I want to know how to love you.

(In retrospect, Dec. 16, 2017, fuck this poem.)

* * *

I want to throw up.

* * *

I awaken

And my first thought is of you and I

Thought it was supposed to feel good and it

Does feel good but then why do I

Feel so anxious?

* * *

Maybe if I threw up I would feel better

Mom always told me that you feel better after throwing up

* * *

Don’t mind me just takin’ my boyfriend for a walk ( ͡° ͜ʖ ͡°) ╯╲___█████

* * *

Hey. Just checking in.

I wanted to tell you that I threw up.   
Like, I actually threw up, in real life.

This isn’t a metaphor.

It looked like mac ‘n’ cheese.

It was exhilarating.

* * *

Do you think of me as much as I think of you?

* * *

i’m so scared.

please hold my hand.

* * *

Perhaps trusting me was a bad idea. I’m only gonna do this again and

Again and

Again and

Again and

Again and

Again and

Again and

Again and

Again and

Again and

Again and

Again and

Again and

I’ll hate myself every time.

(A retrospective on this poem: Dec. 16, 2017: It only happened once, and it only will ever happen once. This just goes to show that I’m a fucking idiot, but that’s alright.)

(Feb. 25, 2018: lol)

* * *

You feel like a block of ice

In fresh brewed coffee

Melting, slowly

Inevitably diluting the hot drink an insignificant amount

And inevitably disappearing entirely

He sits at the other end of the table staring you down

Licking his lips

But you’re merely block of ice melting in a cup of coffee

And you won’t be here forever, you know?

Does he know?

He reaches across the table to pick up the mug in which you lie

Your entire body is struck with a wave of anxiety

But you let it happen

He takes a sip

And you rub your fingers along his chapped lips

You want to stay in this moment forever

But by the time you get the courage to confront him

You’ve melted away


	3. fuck: Dec. 12, 2017

i’m so scared and all i want is for everyone to be happy. fuck this. fuck this. fuck this. fuck this.

why can’t i make everyone happy?

* * *

oh my god please stop trying to kill yourself. you—were being sarcastic? of course you were.

* * *

holy fuck


	4. fuck your feelings: Dec. 16, 2017

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> cw: more vomit

Why did I think I loved you?

We’re only strangers, after all.

* * *

I shouldn’t be so caught up on an insignificant happening such as this

A pit in my stomach

Is this what it feels like?

A cry for help

A cry for love

A cry

I cry

And I cried so much

I mask the love (is that what it is?) with screaming

Which is so like me and yet

Is who I don’t want to be and yet

Do I want to be? I’ve never been much into being a pussy

So I convolute my feelings and I

Convolute my love and it feels like my oxygen supply was cut off--

Oh God, oh Christ

I can’t breathe

I can’t love

I can’t 

Love

And suddenly--

Everything is awful, but at least I still love my friends?

* * *

I secretly figured from the beginning that puking was a sign of bad things to come.

But I ignored it, hoping for the best.

This just goes to show, I am an idiot. 

Don’t disagree with me.

Being an idiot is alright.

I’m an idiot.

And I’m okay with that.

* * *

I realize I haven’t given my poems titles since November.

Hm.

* * *

[redacted]

* * *

I have a hyper enthrallment of the idea of love.

And I think I found my incinerator?

Because I’m glass.

And when I get hot I melt.

Do you get it?

It’s okay if you don’t.

I don’t quite get it, either.

All I want to do is melt

Melt

Melt

Onto the floor and

Make a big fucking mess.

Kinda like how I did this morning with the India ink.

But like, instead of India ink, with molten glass.

Don’t you want that, too?

God, I’ll never get that ink stain out of the seat cushion.

* * *

Christ, I’m afraid I’m gonna puke again.

I don’t want to puke.

But I feel nauseated.

I feel like I’m gonna puke again.

Is  _ this _ even a poem?

I don’t know.

_ I guess. _

I guess it’s a poem.

* * *

**Fuck.**

**♡♡♡**

I'm dying.

You've stolen my heart.

* * *

** _I’m dying._ **

can you promise to stay my friend no matter what

or is that too much to ask

[redacted]

but like

i mean like

[redacted]

it makes me feel more stable having a friend that's been my friend for so long

[redacted]

everyone else that i talk to

ive only met this year

youre the only one thats still around

i just want to make it clear that

if we fight or anything or like

make each other upset

i want to still be friends

even if we have to not talk to each other for a little while

[redacted]

can you promise me that or

is it too much for you

[redacted]

me too

this is good

im so glad youre my friend

[redacted]

** _You’ve stolen my heart._ **

* * *

I’M DYING.

YOU’VE STOLEN MY HEART.

* * *

EVERYTHING IN THE WORLD IS EITHER A POTATO OR NOT A POTATO.

* * *

VAGUE, ESOTERIC REFERENCES TO “FIRED” BY BEN FOLDS

all i want is

to love someone and to be loved by someone

* * *

Disassociate with me dear.

DON’T CALL ME “DEAR” IF YOU THINK I’M A STRANGER.

* * *

I SHOULD HAVE KNOWN YOU WANTED TO BREAK UP THE MOMENT YOU RETURNED MY HEART EMOJIS WITH FUCKING FIDGET SPINNERS.

* * *

“No handle bars. No helmet.”

* * *

**IT’S ALL MY FAULT.**

You know what? I think you’re right. I think we should

Probably be just friends. Sorry for dragging it on.

* * *

Whatever happens, please stay safe and be kind to yourself.

[redacted]

**Fuck you.**

* * *

Please stop me from looking through my old Discord conversations.

This is bad for my mental health.

* * *

I’ll stop before I puke again. Everything that’s happened is just a memory.


	5. i feel really zen right now so i’m gonna try writing some actual poetry instead of venting to google docs about things that don’t matter in the grand scheme of things: Dec. 17, 2017 - Dec. 18, 2017

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> cw: a hint of nsfw

Does he have the same idea as me?

I look at him from across the room.

He’s looking back at me, momentarily,

But when he notices my gaze, he turns his head.

_ No,  _ I think.  _ It’s just a delusion. _

No.

I leave the room for a minute or so and pour myself a mug of coffee.

I leave the room for a minute or so to give my heart time to rest.

When I return, I no longer want coffee, so I offer it to him.

He declines under the premise that he’s not really a big fan of coffee.

I proceed to chug the mug whole.

He stares.

I chew on the lip of the mug. A bit of it breaks off onto the floor.

He stares.

I push the mug further between my lips, caressing it between my teeth.

He stares.

I chew. The mug is crunchy and sharp. It breaks into smaller pieces.

He stares.

All that is left of the mug is the handle, and I force it into my mouth.

He stares.

The mug is now nothing but a fine powder.

He stares.

I swallow the powder. Yes.

He stares.

“Why did you do that?” he asks me.

_ I don’t know. I don’t know. I don’t know. _

_ I’m just so afraid of losing you. _

_ I want to be with you forever. _

I don’t say a word.

He stares.

* * *

She strokes me, slowly.

I ask her to stop, please.

She doesn’t stop.

She screams into my ear.

_ DO IT, YOU PUSSY. _

Why does she associate pussies with being weak?

Don’t you think that’s rather sexist?

_ SHUT UP. _

I shut up.

She reaches in the drawer for one of her

Toys, and she shows it to me, mockingly.

_ THINK YOU COULD HANDLE THIS? _

I want to puke.

No, I can’t handle it.

Please don’t put that anywhere near me.

She presses its belly, and the Furby turns on.

It stares at me though pixelated eyes.

“You thought I was a sex toy, didn’t you?”

I nod.

The Furby nods back at me.

...How did it do that?

Am I dreaming?

* * *

When I was 14, I collected plastic rats.

I owned tens, perhaps hundreds of plastic rats.

My mom threw them out when I was 15.

I’ll never forgive her.

* * *

Deluded, I stare at my ceiling.

Am I thinking with my heart,

Or am I thinking with my mind?

I know the answer.

I’m thinking with my heart.

I’m filled with thoughts of rainbows.

Sad rainbows.

Well, 

Not sad, exactly.

I’m not sure how to describe them.

Numb rainbows?

I shouldn’t push too hard.

But I push.

I push.

I push.

I push.

I push.

I push him too hard, and he falls off the edge.

He literally dies.

It kinda sucks,

But I move on quickly.

I think with my heart,

Probably to a fault.

* * *

I see her first at the street corner.

She looks at me as he did, and quickly averts her gaze.

Do I--?

I chase after her.

She runs.

“Stop! Wait for me!”

No avail.

She disappears into the fog.

I get on my knees and cry.

This is too much for me.

I don’t deserve this right now.

No.

I know I do.

I do deserve this.

Everything is moving so quickly.

It used to move so slowly.

I crave for when time moved slowly.

For when a week was an eternity.

She ran so quickly.

I couldn’t catch up to her.

She ran so quickly.

* * *

My chest hurts.

Why do I do this to myself?

Is it so I don’t die?

I mean--yes, that’s exactly it.

But what if I were somewhere else early 2014?

I feel that if I stretch my arm enough, I can touch the tip of 2014.

I can change it.

I know I can still change it.

But I don’t.

I’m so much happier.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this chapter confuses me, too


	6. and I’ve got the scars to prove it: Feb. 25, 2018

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> cw: suicide and gore

Kissed by an angel

You fear spite

But you hold back

Do you?

Just kidding, you don’t hold back one bit

You laugh

“This is serious,” she retorts

Skin deep, you understand

But deep down, you don’t care

But you’re only skin deep

So you understand

So you pause

So you stop

So you imagine what it would be like to

Shoot yourself straight through the brain

And the comfort you find worries you a bit

You shake off the thought

_ Not today,  _ you think

“Not today,” she says

“Not today,” you tell her

“Today,” she says

You cut through your ribs

You tear out your heart

You give it to her

She throws it in the trash

But it doesn’t take you too long to grow a new one

* * *

Erosion

Eros slipping through my fingers

Water slipping through the rocks

Eroding, slow but steady

Rocks washed away

Carried away by loving hands

Is it supposed to feel like this?

Does it feel like this for everyone?

An angel leans down to me, whispers in my ear

“It’ll be okay, darling.”

I believe the angel, I think

I can never know for certain, however

* * *

Crystal pasture

I lay as the shards protrude my epidermis

Blood drips down my back

A crimson lake

Sharp pains encapsulate me

Treasuring every moment of

Enduring every time I’ve known

I should have stopped

* * *

Cheap metal earrings leave

A green stain on my torn-up ears which

Leave bloodstains on my clothes

\--But I don’t mind it

But I don’t mind drowning

In intrusive thoughts of

Chaining a block of cement to my   
Foot and jumping in the lake

Because the green stain   
Left around my piercing reminds me

That I’m nothing but chemicals and   
I crave nothing but chemicals and

This, as everything before it, will pass

* * *

The clicks of an old typewriter

Manifest in the silence of my laptop--

The buzzing of my heater

It’s only morning, but I crave the

Zen of the sound of typing in 1999

It’s only 2099, but I crave the past

Present

Future

But I can’t quite reach it, and

It bothers me a lot. What good is a

Goal if it’s unachievable?

But the harder I press on my

Laptop keys, the more they resemble

The clicks of an old typewriter

  
  


Poetry is a better coping

Method than cutting

Don’t let anything

Convince you otherwise--

Hold your keyboard

Close to your heart

Let your muddled

Metaphoric feelings

Flow from your fingertips--

And never let them stop

* * *

Infatuation

Fear of rejection

Rejection

Repression of the

Emotions of the

Body--

Acceptance?

* * *

Can she hear the

Muffled screaming of my

Heart? Because sometimes

I’m not even sure if I myself

Can hear it

* * *

I went because you said you’d be there

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is where the Google Doc ended. I apparently had plans to continue writing vent poetry, but I never went through with them.
> 
> It was definitely jarring reading back on all of this.
> 
> The next chapter will be the retrospective addendum i promised. I just need to write it first.


End file.
